


Neat and Tidy

by mnemosyne23



Category: Lost
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-06
Updated: 2005-02-06
Packaged: 2020-03-08 06:09:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18888739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mnemosyne23/pseuds/mnemosyne23
Summary: Pre-pregnancy, Claire has a night to herself when Thomas is out of town.  She happens to catch a performance by some band called Drive Shaft...





	1. Chapter 1

_This is the closest thing to crazy I have ever been_  
Feeling twenty-two, acting seventeen,  
This is the nearest thing to crazy I have ever known,  
I was never crazy on my own...  
And now I know that there's a link between the two,  
Being close to craziness and being close to you.

_-Katie Melua, "The Closest Thing to Crazy"-_

 

Claire was by no means obsessive, but she was the kind of girl who folded her trash. It was a habit she'd gotten into as a teenager, when her mother seemed bent on controlling every aspect of her life. Some girls turned to anorexia, others to drugs and sex. Claire turned inward and started folding her trash. Napkins, take-out wrappers, those little foil sleeves they put around burritos -- anything foldable she folded. Anything bendable she bent, up to and including cereal boxes and milk cartons. Sometimes she'd take her little bundles of refuse and tie them up like a present using one of those paper sleeves they put on straws, then promptly chuck the little package into the nearest dustbin. It was her control mechanism, this compulsion to tidy up after herself, and it had stayed with her even when she moved away from her mother's overbearing personality.

She was doing it now, sitting at the bar folding her cocktail napkin and listening to the blaring music of the live entertainment as she waited for the bartender to give her another amaretto sour. This was her fourth of the night, and she was beginning to feel muzzy in the head. But that was the point; she was here to get drunk. Not because the world had kicked her or because she wanted to forget her troubles. She was here because Thomas was visiting his grandmother, her gal pals were studying for their cosmetology final, and she had a night to herself. All her own. Normally she was ruled by her date book and calendar; but tonight Claire Littleton was letting her hair down. She'd called a cab, told the bartender to ring up a tab, and settled in for a night of solo debauchery. A piece of her brain kept insisting debauchery required at least two people, but she told it to shut up and drowned it with another sip of alcohol.

"Who's the band!" she shouted to the bartender over the noise of the group onstage as he took away her empty glass.

"Some bunch of wash-ups from England!" he shouted back. "They're cheap or I'd've never booked 'em!"

Claire bobbed her head in understanding, not bothering to shout to be heard over the noise. Her eyes flicked briefly over the flyer tacked to a nearby post that proclaimed the band's appearance in bold, photocopied letters. **DRIVE SHAFT, Thursday night, 8-10! Don't miss it, you all, everybody!**

 _You all, everybody…_ That sounded familiar. Wasn't that that song from a few years ago? The one that they _wouldn't stop playing_ on the local Top 40 station? It was one of those tunes that got in your head and wouldn't go away without the sharp application of an ice pick.

" _You all, everybody_ ," she sang under her breath, folding up the corners on a fresh napkin. " _You all, everybody… Acting like it's stupid people wearing expensive clothes…_ "

Dammit. Now it was stuck in her head. AGAIN.

Sucking the cocktail cherry off its requisite toothpick, she started looking around for a bathroom. _The problem with getting pissed_ , her less-than-delicate friend Monique liked to say, _is it makes you need to piss like a racehorse._ Claire was more than willing to agree.

"Can you watch this for me!" she shouted at the bartender, pointing to her half-finished drink. "I've got to use the ladies!"

The bartender nodded his assent and put her drink behind the bar. Claire hopped off her stool and pushed through the crowd towards the bathroom. Not for the first time she wondered if she was eliciting some kind of _Sorry, I'm taken_ vibe to the room at large. Normally she had to fend guys off with a stick, even when Thomas was with her. Maybe they thought she was here on her own because she'd just gotten out of a bad relationship and was drowning her sorrows at the bar. Which _still_ didn't make much sense, because that should have had them flocking tenfold.

Her eyes felt like they were bobbing by the time she managed to get through the blue-lit barroom and into the back hallway where the restrooms were located. The ladies room was dark and smoky and she didn't let herself touch the seat in her stall. As she washed up, she took a close look at herself in the foggy mirror. Make-up, perfect. Hair, flawless. Dress, curve-hugging and the perfect shade of blue to accentuate her eyes. Normally she preferred clothes that looked and felt more organic -- hemp sandals and cotton tanks. But tonight was all about being a little wild, and sometimes a girl just wanted to pull on skin tight midnight blue nylon spandex and feel sexy. If Thomas had been with her, he would have been slobbering all over her neck.  
  
Ah well. It was probably best if no one tried hitting on her. She could tell she was getting tipsy, and there was no point taking a risk like that. What if someone asked her to go back to his place and she said yes? Horrors.

Making her way back to the bar, Claire noticed the blaring music from the stage had been replaced by blaring music from the speakers around the bar. Glancing at her watch proved that it was a little after ten. A piece of her felt bad for the poor members of Drive Shaft; no one had demanded an encore.

Her stool had been taken by the time she got back to the bar. Oh well -- you move you lose. "Can I have my drink back!" she shouted at the bartender, gesturing to where he'd put it behind the bar. "Thank you!"

She had to reach past the new resident of her stool as she took the drink, and the man -- it was a he -- turned to look at her. He looked vaguely familiar. "You were sitting here," he said.

Claire gave him a curious smile. "Well, yeah," she admitted, stepping back a bit with her drink. "But you can have it."

He gave her a smile then -- a quick, cocky grin -- and hopped off the stool. "Just keeping it warm for you," he said, dusting off the cracked green vinyl. "You can't trust people in a place like this. Never know who's going to come along and steal a pretty girl's seat." He gestured for her to sit, which she did, blushing.

"Thanks," she said, setting her glass back on the bar and crossing her legs -- provocatively, she realized. Hell, the first guy she'd talked to all night outside of the bartender and she was already hitting on him. She pushed the sour away a little and held out her hand for the newcomer. "I'm Claire."

"Charlie," he said, shaking her hand. "Charlie Pace."

"You're British?"

"Yeah, I'm with the band. I'm the bassist. And I do vocals."

She raised an eyebrow. "A Renaissance man."

He shrugged, grinning. "I do what I can."

Claire giggled, prompting his grin to get even bigger. He had quite nice eyes, a sort of gray-green, lined in black eyeliner. Spiky brown hair shot through with swathes of faded purple and magenta framed a face that a poet would call _puckish_. He was wearing a well-worn Drive Shaft concert t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, over a pair of military-issue cargo fatigues. All in all, absolutely nothing like Thomas.

She found herself leaning closer. "Are you thirsty?" she asked.

He cocked his head, eyes twinkling. "A bit," he said with a nod.

Claire grinned. "What'll you have?"

 

\-------------------

 

Most of the girls Charlie had chatted up in the last few years had been skeletal junkies on back benches in the shadiest dives in Europe. The kinds of places where Drive Shaft was still considered current because most of the denizens were too strung out on a mix of alcohol and cocaine to realize what year it was. Getting this mini-tour kicked off in Australia was the first step, he'd told the rest of the guys, to getting back on a real label. Everyone but Liam had agreed, but even Liam would come around when a new deal came knocking. That's what brothers were for, right?

There was no denying it was nice talking to a girl with a rosy complexion and radiant eyes. Truly radiant. The kind of eyes you wrote songs about. And her smile…!

"So to hammer in the cliché, what's a nice girl like you doing alone in a place like this?" Charlie asked a few minutes later, before taking a pull from his Fosters.

She was toying with her napkin in an endearingly fidgety kind of way. "My friends were all busy," she said, folding over one corner of the napkin until it touched the center. "I didn't feel like staying in, so I decided to come out and see what the night brought." She repeated the fold with the next corner.

Charlie watched her over the top of his mug. She wasn't meeting his eyes, which meant she was hedging. Well that was all right -- they all had secrets. She probably had a boyfriend somewhere, or an over-protective brother. But there was a reason tours only stayed one night in any given city.

Lowering his mug he nodded to the napkin, which was formed into a smaller square now. "You're into origami then, luv?"

"Hmm?" Claire looked up, eyes a little distant. "What? Oh. No." She blushed, and even in the blue light of the bar it made her glow. "Just something I've done for years. Silly, really."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." He shrugged and gave her a wicked grin over the top of his mug. "Knowing how to bend things in new and unusual positions is a bit of a specialty of mine."

If she'd been blushing before, she was absolutely BURNING now, making Charlie chuckle. Reaching out, he snatched up her folded napkin and turned his back on her. "What're you doing?" she asked, trying to peer around his arm, but he didn't let her get a good view.

"Just a little something I learned on the mean streets of Manchester." After a few more seconds he turned around, holding a delicate origami crane. "Peek-a-boo," he said with a twinkle in his eye, touching the crane to her nose.

Claire laughed in delight, taking the fragile creation from his hand. "How did you learn to do this?" she asked, setting it on the bar and making it waddle around.

The hoard of young women occupying the seats on Claire's left chose that moment to get up and walk away, talking loudly about make-up and hair, and Charlie took the opportunity to slip onto an available stool. "You'd be surprised, the things you learn on a tour," he said, petting the paper crane. "We were in Tokyo for the first album, and I asked the concierge at our hotel to show me how to do origami. I must've been drunk at the time, because I'll be bollocksed if I have a clue why I'd ask something like that. I can't remember how to do anything but the bloody bird, and it doesn't even look right. Always comes out looking a bit like a turkey."

Claire giggled. "Gobble gobble," she said, making it peck at his hand.

Charlie laughed, wiggling his fingers. In the process his hand brushed hers, and he saw her visibly stiffen, as if a bolt of electricity had passed through her. He smiled, moving his hand away. "So what's with the napkin folding, if not origami?" he asked, taking another sip of beer. "Geometry lover?"

Claire shrugged, setting the paper crane in her lap. Charlie shifted in his seat, feeling a hot flush work through his veins at the sight of his paper creation nestling… there. "It's just one of those things I started as a teenager that've stuck with me," she told him, stirring her drink. "It's how I asserted my independence, I guess."

"Folding napkins? Yes, very assertive."

She laughed, ducking her head. "I told you it was silly."

"No more so than dyeing your hair and wearing makeup." She smiled at him and he gave her a shadow of a wink. "My mother nearly had a heart attack the first time I asked to borrow her mascara. Can't say as I blame her, the poor woman. Her good Catholic schoolboy raiding her makeup bag."

Claire arched a pretty eyebrow at him. "You were a Catholic schoolboy?"

"Once upon a time." He stared into his beer, swirling the last of the foam around the rim. "Things change." He raised his head, giving her a smile. Claire squinted at him, as if trying to see him through a fine mist. "What's up, luv?"

"I was trying to picture you in pigtails and a tartan skirt with knee socks."

"That'd be if I was a Catholic schoolGIRL, ducks. That'd be more up your alley I think."

"Oh, not me. Jeans and a t-shirt. My mother thought I was a lesbian until I started wearing skirts when I was twelve."

"On behalf of the male population, I'm glad she was wrong."

Claire ducked her head in acknowledgement, beaming like a lighthouse. "Thanks." She chuckled, taking a sip of her drink, and looked around the bar. The seething crowd was beginning to empty out now that the show was over, though no doubt a fresh surge of people would start pouring in soon for the night rush. "I was beginning to wonder if I had a 'kick me' sign pinned to my back, actually," she told him, her eyes meeting his once more. "Not one guy has come over to talk to me all night. I thought I was giving off some kind of anti-sexual pheromone."

Charlie snickered. "Trust me, luv, it couldn't be further from the truth. But Bruce here was shooting dirty looks at every guy who got within fifteen feet of you." He nodded to the bartender, who was drawing another beer for someone further down the bar. "And Bruce is a pretty intimidating guy, as you can see."

"Why?" She sounded genuinely flummoxed.

Charlie shrugged, taking another swig from his own beer. "Maybe because I asked him to." He could tell she was staring at him. Those eyes of hers left a mark on the skin like a laser. When he met her eyes again, she looked confused and -- ah, there it was -- intrigued. "I saw you come in," he explained. "While we were taking our intermission. And I thought, _Pretty girl, all alone, dressed like a million dollars and heading for the bar. That's a girl with a mission._ The problem is, you can meet a lot of real scum in places like this, luv. Real lowlifes. Not the kind of blokes you'd take home to meet mum and dad."

"And you're different, I suppose?"

"Course I am." He winked at her. "I'm in a band."

She stared at him for a moment, and he could tell she was debating whether she should be angry or flattered. After a few seconds, he saw her face falter and she broke out in a smile. "That doesn't mean you're not scum," she said, chuckling.

Charlie made a conciliatory gesture with his hands. "This is true," he agreed. "But at least I'm _talented_ scum."

"And for your information, I didn't come in here looking for a date."

"What a coincidence. Neither did I."

"I was just here for a few drinks and to stretch my legs."

"Of course you were. And you dressed like Jessica Rabbit because you like bunnies." She shot him a look. "Luv, no woman wears a dress that tight unless she wants to dig her heel in men's throats as they slobber at her feet."

"I have a boyfriend."

Of course she did. "Then where is he?" he asked.

Claire tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Visiting his grandmother," she said.

Charlie almost snorted. "Really?"

She gave him an affronted look. "Yes, really."

"Are you SURE?"

"Yes!"

"Luv, no offense, but when a bloke tells you he's going to visit his aged grandmother and doesn't invite you to come along…" He picked up his beer and took one last gulp, letting his silence speak for itself.

She straightened in her seat, giving him a haughty look down her nose. "I know what you're trying to do," she said.

"What's that, luv?"

"You're trying to get me to sleep with you because you think I'm drunk and I'll say yes."

"Are you?"

"No!"

"Then I'd say you're safe, wouldn't you?" He tilted his head, watching her bite her lip. A piece of him felt dirty doing this. She wasn't drunk, no, but she wasn't entirely sober either, and he was deliberately using that against her. It was habit; like folding cocktail napkins.

She gave him a shifty look. "Why should I trust you?" she asked. "I don't even _know_ you."

Charlie gave her a slow smile. "I could say the same thing, luv. For all I know, you're trying to take advantage of my natural good will so you can roll me for whatever change you find in my pockets." At her incredulous look, he reached out and traced a finger over the back of her hand, feeling her tighten up again. "But I don't think that's the kind of girl you are, Claire," he murmured, keeping the eye contact between them. "I think you're a girl who's looking for a guy for one night because your boyfriend is out of town, and he's such a bore that you not only believe he's visiting his grandmother, but you know it's true. So you pulled out the tightest dress in your wardrobe, dabbed a little perfume on your pulse points, and decided to go a little wild. Just a little, because you're normally a good girl who tidies up after herself, and you don't like loose ends." He laced his fingers with hers, and she didn't resist. "Am I right?"

Her dark blue eyes were riveted to their intertwined fingers as he rubbed his thumb back and forth over her knuckles. Charlie didn't say anything, letting her turn the options over in her head. It would be the height of arrogance to say he knew what her response would be before she said it. But he did.

That didn't mean he wasn't surprised when she looked up, eyes burning, and said, "Who told you I was a good girl?"

 

\-------------------------

 

The cab ride back to her apartment passed in a blur of groping in the back seat. Claire threw some money at the driver as Charlie tugged on her hips from behind, pulling her back towards the door of her building, his face buried in her hair. "Where are we going?" he murmured near her ear, his nose nuzzling at her temple.

"Just follow me," she said breathlessly, grabbing his hand away from her hip and turning them around so she was leading him through the door. She giggled, pulling him up the stairs, as his other hand tickled her side. "Stop that!" she said, slapping his hand away.

"What, this?" he asked, tickling her with more purpose.

"Yes!" She laughed, turning around on the landing in front of her apartment door. Pinning his arms to his sides, she grinned and sidled closer. "I can't open the door if I have to keep fending you off."

He bumped noses with her. "We don’t have to go inside."

"Mmm, but my bed is nice and comfortable."

"I'm pretty sure you'd make anywhere comfortable, luv."

He wanted her. Claire could read it in his eyes. She loved Thomas -- she did -- but there were times she wondered what it would be like to be with someone with a little more fire; a little more spontaneity. Thomas was an artist, a naturally creative individual. But his idea of spontaneity was spending an hour staring at a flower in full bloom, then running to his easel to capture that essence on canvas. Which wasn't to say he wouldn't come running if she showed up in a pair of transparent lace panties and a peek-a-boo bra; but he would never, EVER stare at her with such unbridled lust. If they were outside he'd probably blush bright red and tell her to cover up, not offer to fuck her in the hallway.

An electric shiver worked its way down her spine at that thought, coupled with the flickering fire in Charlie's eyes. His hands had stopped their tickling and were massaging her hips now. Claire felt her body slowly going lax under his ministrations.

"The door, sweet," he murmured near her ear.

"Right," she said dreamily. "Door…"

Turning in his hands, she fumbled her keys out of her purse and tried to fit the proper one in the lock. Charlie was pressed up against her back, warm through his t-shirt and the thin fabric of her dress, and she wondered if he could feel just how fast her heart was beating. It made her think of those cartoons where the love struck skunk would see the object of his affection and his pupils would turn to hearts and leap out of his eyes.

Finally she managed to get the door open and hurried into the apartment, dragging Charlie behind her. She barely had time to shut and lock the door before his fingers were in her hair, tugging her head to the side so his mouth could start to devour her throat. "Oh God…," she moaned as his hand palmed her breast and he pulled her back against his chest again. "Oh GOD…"

"It's Charlie, actually," he said against her jaw, and she could tell he was smiling by the tone of his voice. "Much as I appreciate being compared to the Almighty."

She spun around in his arms, grabbed his shoulders and pushed him up against the nearest wall, at the base of the stairs that led up to her split level apartment. "Do you always talk this much?" she asked with her own grin, before pressing her face into his throat and nibbling gently along his jugular.

"You'd rather I communicate with mime?" he murmured, moaning a little as her teeth grazed over his pulse point.

"I'd prefer it if you busied your hands with other things, actually."

"Your will is my command, luv."

She threw her head back, pressing up against him as she kicked off her heels. "Take my dress off," she purred near his mouth. "And I don't care if you rip it."

He flashed her a grin -- a predatory baring of his teeth. "You don’t beat about the bush, do you, sweets?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Mm-mm, not when I've been drinking. I get direct."

"Well then. Far be it from me to argue…" She felt his fingers slide up the back of her dress, searching for the top of the hidden zipper. He found it, and slowly pulled downward. Claire closed her eyes, feeling the dress loosen as his hand grazed down her back. A shiver of excitement passed through her as his other hand dipped under the fabric to touch her bare skin. There was something intoxicating about the sensation of flesh on flesh, particularly on somewhere as intimate as the lower back, where his hand had come to rest once the zipper was undone.

"Do you mean what you said about the ripping?" he asked, dropping a kiss on the side of her neck.

"Mm-hmm," she murmured dreamily, her own hands drifting down his back like water droplets on a windowpane.

"Good," he whispered. "Because I've always wanted to do this."

And with one sharp motion he bunched up the material in his hands and ripped it away from her body. The material split at the base of the zipper and tore down the back of the skirt. Claire gasped at the sudden rush of air against her back as he peeled the material away and let it drop on the floor between them. Cuddling up closer to his chest to hide her breasts, she realized first that she hadn't been wearing a bra, and second that she was virtually naked in front of a man she hardly knew. A kernel of doubt began to sprout roots in her mind.

Until his hand smoothed down the curve of her side, and she felt her bones turn to butter. "Does your boyfriend tell you you're beautiful?" he asked, and there was something about the way he said _beautiful_ that made her whimper.

"Yes," she told him, looking up into his gray eyes. Odd that gray eyes could be so intense, when form would seem to dictate they'd be wishy-washy.

"Often?"

"I think so."

He shook his head, his hand coming up to comb through her hair. "I don't think so," he disagreed. "Else you wouldn't be hiding."

She blushed, feeling the flush spread down her neck. "I barely know you," she reminded him.

Charlie smiled, raising his hand from her back to stroke his knuckles over her cheek. "You just asked me to rip your dress off, luv," he countered. "Which was wonderful, by the way. But I think if you were unsure about this you would have put a stop to it before we got that far. Don't you think?"

Claire found herself leaning into his touch. He smelled like smoke and beer and nail polish. Opening her eyes -- which had drifted shut -- she looked up into his face. His eyes were soft, smoldering behind their eyeliner. "I thought rock stars were supposed to be rough," she murmured with a smile, reaching up to lay her hand over his on her cheek.

His thumb caressed her cheekbone. "I can be, if you want," he said huskily. "I'm a sexual chameleon."

She giggled. "I think I like this right now."

"I feel a bit overdressed myself."

A wicked smile twitched across her lips. "Follow me and we'll take care of that," she purred, and took a step back, making sure he got an eyeful of her bare breasts. Then she turned on her heel and sashayed up the stairs, pausing only briefly to glance behind her and make sure he was following.

He was.

 

\--------------------------

 

The apartment was a loft, the kind with an open floor plan and not many walls. There were plenty of tall windows, however, and moonlight filtered through them in silver columns, turning the air blue. Charlie didn’t notice much more than the basics as he rounded the top of the stairs, because his eyes were too busy following Claire's bare back. He was having trouble getting a handle on this girl, and not in a physical sense. Definitely not in a physical sense. But he couldn't tell what she wanted from him, and more than that, he didn't have a clue what _he_ wanted from _her_. Normally that was an easy question to answer : a drink, a fondle, a shag and a smoke. But this girl was different. She was playful and coy one minute, then brazen and demanding the next. Charlie hadn't lied when he said he was a sexual chameleon; he'd picked up the skill over the years so he could adapt to women as they came along. But he'd never had to switch back and forth so much in one night. It was… exciting. He never knew what was going to happen next.

He considered asking if handcuffs would be involved, but thought better of it when she sat down on the edge of the bed and he could see her breasts again.

"Bloody hell," he breathed, openly ogling her chest.

She gave him a wry smile. "I have a face you know."

"I do know. It's just you also happen to have these two amazing breasts, and they're demanding some attention."

She leaned forward, in what had to be an act of cruel and unusual temptation. "Come here," she beckoned, waving him closer with one delicate hand.

No good ever came of being asked twice. Charlie walked to where she sat, but he made sure to keep his pace slow and nonchalant. For whatever reason he didn't want her to know how badly she was tormenting him. If this was a power struggle, he'd be damned if he'd let her know she was holding all the cards. "You called?" he asked as he came to a stop in front of her.

She looked up at him through her lashes, sharp blue eyes shining in the ambient moonlight. "Take your shirt off," she said. Not demanding, but suggesting, like she was telling him to eat his vegetables or wear his seatbelt.

Charlie felt a grin spread across his face. "Why would I do that, luv?" he asked. "Seems to me I took your dress off, so maybe you ought to take _my_ shirt off. Fairs fair, don't you think?"

The moonlight made Claire's teeth inhumanly bright as she smiled at him. "I agree," she said. "But this is the thing. I was just wearing the dress. You're wearing a shirt AND trousers. So the way I see it is, I can take your shirt off and you remove your pants, and we're square. Or…" Here she leaned back deliberately on her hands so she could look up at him more easily; and also, no doubt, so he could see HER more easily. "You can take your shirt off, and I'll take off your pants. And what happens from there… happens."

Damn her. Damn her and her licentious logic. "Do you do this a lot?" he asked, staring down at her.

She gave him a coquettish shrug. "No. I guess I'm just a natural."

"You're something all right," he growled, and yanked his shirt off, throwing it away over his shoulder. "Happy now?"

"Thrilled," she said silkily, sitting up straight. Laying her hands on his hips, she pulled him closer as she got up on her knees. "Stay." And she leaned forward to press her lips to his stomach in a light, pixie kiss.

Charlie closed his eyes, resting his hand on her head as she dropped feathersoft kisses across his abdomen and in circles around his navel. This was… odd. Not bad -- cor, definitely not bad. But odd. Different. Most times when he nipped off with a girl for a shag it was nothing more than a quick roll between the sheets followed by a night watching the telly and getting high on ridiculous amounts of heroin. This was slow, flirty, like they were working up to something special. Once upon a time he'd thought of sex as something precious, but that had gone out the window quickly when he discovered groupies. They were like Wal-Mart -- you could find them anywhere and most were open 24 hours.

This was different. Claire was different. He wanted to take his time with her.

A guttural moan seeped past his lips as her slender fingers worked open the button of his cargos and unzipped the fly. "Fuck," he breathed, opening his eyes to gaze down at her as she pushed the trousers down his legs.

She looked up at him, eyes twinkling. "Commando?"

He gave her a lazy smile. "If you can't wear clean underwear, don't wear any at all, in case you're in an accident. My mum taught me that."

"I think you're mixing your messages."

"Really? Damn."

Her nails raked down his thighs and he hissed, his hand tightening in her hair. "I didn't say it was a bad thing," she pointed out with an impish smile. Leaning forward again, she pressed a kiss just below his navel, keeping her eyes turned upwards and locked with his. She nuzzled down his pelvis until she reached the base of his cock, and laid a kiss on his hard flesh. Charlie felt his knees tremble and he braced a hand on her shoulder as she kissed her way along his member. When she reached the tip, her moist pink tongue darted out to lick away the droplet of precum that had begun to form there, and Charlie gasped, his hips thrusting forward automatically. She giggled; a sweet, angelic sound that seemed so strange coming from the soft pink lips that were doing such wicked things to his sanity. He watched with something like awe as she wrapped her lips around his head, slowly taking him into her mouth.

His eyes rolled back in his head as she took him deeper into the hot cave of her mouth. This was murder. She was trying to kill him. He whimpered as she slowly pulled back, grazing her teeth along his skin, then moaned outright when she moved forward again, faster this time. A fiery coil was forming in his stomach. He wasn't going to last much longer, and he could feel it.

Unacceptable. He wanted this night to be longer. NEEDED it to be longer. There had been a hole in him for so long now that he'd grown used to its emptiness. But being with Claire brought it to the forefront, demanding notice.

He wanted to be wanted, and to date, Claire was the only one who wanted him. REALLY wanted him.

He laid a hand on her cheek and choked out, "Stop."

She did, looking up at him in puzzlement.

"Not like this, luv," he said hoarsely, tangling his fingers in her hair and shaking his head.

Slowly she drew away, and Charlie bit his lip until he could taste blood as the heat of her mouth abandoned him. "Is something wrong?" she asked, sounding suddenly vulnerable.

The laugh that burst past his lips took them both by surprise. "Oh, Christ, luv, no," he said, his hand massaging the silky blonde tresses that slid between his fingers. "That's the problem. I want to make this last, and you were about to bring it all crashing to a stop."

He toed off his shoes and stepped out of the cargo pants, moving to kneel on the bed beside her. Cupping her chin, he tilted her head towards him so he could brush a kiss over her lips. "I could come just looking at you, luv," he whispered against her mouth. "Everything you do to me just makes that easier." He nuzzled her jaw, enjoying her soft, breathless sighs. "But then all the fun would be over, and I've barely gotten to touch you yet." Here he let his hand drift down her throat to squeeze one breast.

She moaned, kissing him firmly as she pressed into his hand. "That does feel good," she murmured against his mouth.

He grinned. "I can make it feel even better," he assured her.

"Mmm, how?"

"Lay back and I'll show you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-pregnancy, Claire has a night to herself when Thomas is out of town. She happens to catch a performance by some band called Drive Shaft...

The pillow was soothing and soft as Claire fell back, stretching languorously on the bed. She was thankful for the familiar touch of her comforter; it helped ground her. Her head felt light enough to fly away, and the rest of her body was humming like a taut piano wire. This all felt so unreal. She was making love to a rock star. In her own bed. The one she shared with Thomas. And she was LIKING it.

Who knew eyeliner could be so sexy?

"Just so we're even," she heard Charlie murmur, and felt his fingers hook into the waist of her panties, pulling them down her legs and off. She kept her eyes fixed on the ceiling, half afraid to look down. Her heart was in her throat and her stomach was flip-flopping like a beached fish. She knew she was shaking, and wondered if he'd notice.

"Oh…!" she gasped as she felt his lips touch her hip. Glancing down, she saw his multi-hued head hovering over her belly as he blew gently into her navel. She shivered, enjoying the sensation and wondering what else he'd do.

Suddenly he looked up, gray eyes meeting blue. "What's your favorite color?" he asked.

For a moment she thought she'd misheard him. "What?"

"Your favorite color," he repeated. "What is it?"

"Why do you want to know that?"

"I want to know _you_ ," he clarified. "And there's no better place to start than favorite color. Look," he continued at her confused expression, "I'll give you a reward for each answer you give me. Does that sound good?"

"What kind of reward?" she asked carefully.

He gave her a devilish grin in answer. "That's for me to know and you to experience, luv," he told her. "Shall we test it out? What's your favorite color?"

She bit her lip for a second, then decided there was really no harm in it. "Blue," she said.

"Nice one," he agreed, nodding his ascension. "Works well with your eyes."

"And my reward?"

"Oh, right." There was the grin again, cheeky as ever. "Your reward. Mustn't forget that." His hand came to rest on her thigh. "Open."

Swallowing the anxious lump in her throat, Claire let her legs slide apart. She gasped as Charlie's hand coasted over her inner thigh, making her jump.

"Whew, heat," he said, holding his hand a few inches away from the juncture of her legs, as if warming himself at a campfire. "You're burning up, luv. I think you might need a cold shower."

"You're too cocky for your own good," she told him, annoyed at the shakiness of her voice.

"You'd know that well," he murmured, eyes hooded. "Wouldn't you now." She blushed, and he smiled. "Shhh, I'm not teasing. Much." He kissed her stomach as his hand moved in, brushing over her moist curls. "Mmm… Warm…" Claire squeezed her eyes shut, fisting the bedspread in her hands as his fingers played havoc on her lower body.

"Next question," he purred against her belly, and Claire whimpered in frustration. "Do you prefer a man who wears boxers or briefs?"

"What?" She couldn’t concentrate. He was driving her mad.

"Do you prefer boxers or briefs on a man?"

"Boxers!"

"Why?"

"Because briefs… they look silly!"

She felt him grin against her abdomen. "I'm glad I don't wear briefs, sweet, or I might be offended and not give you your reward. But, since I'm a boxers man myself when I wear the damn things, and since that was technically two questions…"

Without preamble, he pressed two long fingers into her body.

Claire arched away from the bed, gasping for air as her sheath molded around his digits. Fluttering muscles pulled him deeper.

"Fuck," she heard him whisper as he laid his head on her stomach. "That feels good, doesn't it, luv?"

"Y…yes…," she panted, then moaned as he twisted his fingers gently inside her, making her hips buck.

"Do you want more?"

" _Please…!_ "

"Are you thinking about your boyfriend?"

A confused jumble of emotions sped across her face. "What? No!" she panted, and groaned as his thumb began to work her clit.

"I like that answer," Charlie murmured, nuzzling her breast. "What's his name?"

"T-Thomas. Ohhhhh…" Her body shuddered as he worked a third finger into her, spreading her wider.

"Do you wish I was Thomas?"

"No!" She was hoping he'd start to pump his hand as the next level of her reward, but instead he kept his fingers steady and continued his slow manipulation of her clit. She keened in frustration, rocking her hips against his hand, eager for more.

"Shhh, Claire my sweet," he soothed, sliding up her body to brush his lips over hers in a remarkably chaste kiss while his fingers continued their magic below. "Just a few more questions, I promise."

"Please…!"

He pressed his lips to her forehead, and Claire arched her neck to touch her own trembling lips to his chin. Charlie tilted his head down to meet her lips with his mouth and she let herself breathe his breath as he whispered to her.

"Do you like what we're doing, sweet?"

"Yes, oh God yes…"

His fingers started moving inside her and she moaned in delight, squeezing her thighs around his arm. "No no, ducks," he murmured, smiling against her mouth. "Keep your knees open." Claire moaned, but obediently let her legs fall apart again, too wound up to argue. It left her feeling exposed and tight as she rocked her hips in rhythm with his hand. "Good girl," Charlie whispered, nuzzling her nose. "Just one more question, then I won't ask you anymore. I promise."

Claire bit her lip, straining upwards, rubbing herself against his body where he hovered over her. She felt wanton and unfettered, adrenaline pouring through her veins like water through a sluice gate. He could ask all the questions he wanted, but if he was looking for an answer of more than one word, he was going to be disappointed. Claire didn't know if she could even remember how to speak.

"The next time you're lying in this bed with your boyfriend," he asked softly against her temple, his voice low and raspy. "The next time you're tangled up in your sheets and Thomas starts touching you and one thing leads to another and he moves in between your thighs…" His fingers sank deeper, and Claire gulped out a guttural cry. "The next time that happens, Claire… will you be thinking about me?"

She didn't even need time to consider it. Turning her head to the side, she fixed him with a lusty stare. "Yes!" she gasped, and meant it. "Yes…!"

His eyes darkened, going from gray to black in a heartbeat. A feral growl rumbled low in his throat and he lunged for her mouth, pressing his tongue between her lips as his hand began to pump her in earnest. Claire screamed into his mouth, clutching his face between her hands and sweeping her tongue across the roof of his mouth as her hips ground against his hand. She felt him crook a finger inside her to press against her g-spot, and screamed again. Her nipples were rock hard, desperate for something, so she dropped one hand to squeeze her breast as her lower body lost all connection with her brain and started pitching and rolling like a ship at sea. A piece of her was terrified he'd stop before her climax; that he'd take away his hand and draw out the torture a little longer. She didn't think she could take that. She really, really didn't think she could.

Their mouths broke apart and Claire gasped for air, her eyes flying open to stare at the ceiling. The world was pinwheeling around her, making her dizzy, so she squeezed her lashes shut again, focusing all her attention on the way he was touching her.

"You really are the most fucking beautiful creature I've ever laid eyes on," he whispered fervently against her hair. "Every inch of you is a goddamn masterpiece. This is like sex in the Louvre with the Venus de Milo. Do you know that? You're fucking artwork, luv. Priceless."

She was also three steps away from losing her mind if she didn't get to orgasm soon. It was building in her belly, getting closer and closer but just a whisker out of reach. Opening her eyes, she found his face. "Please," she whimpered desperately. "Please, I'm so close…!"

He gave her an apologetic smile. "I know, luv. I'm sorry. I wanted to draw this out, sweets. I wanted to watch you." The tip of his tongue darted out to lick his dry lips; she could see sweat beading on his forehead. "Keep looking at me. I need your eyes here, luv. Please, keep your eyes on me."

Claire nodded frantically, keeping her gaze pinned to his eyes. He could have told her to sing the chorus to _Rocky Mountain High_ and she would have agreed.

"So beautiful…" he murmured again, and pressed his thumb against her clit. Hard.

The world shattered. Claire's orgasms had always been pleasant, relaxed sensations in the past. They made her body tingle and her muscles flex, but never anything like this. Never anything to make her scream. She'd always thought screaming orgasms were just a myth; a stereotype that made a nifty name for a drink, but with no basis in reality.

She was going to have to rethink her entire philosophy.

"YESSSSSSSSSSSSSS!" she howled, her hips leaping away from the bed as her body clenched around his fingers, pulling him deeper. "Oh GOD YES… Oh…!"

She collapsed back to the bed, trembling from head to foot. Pleasant aftershocks shot through her body like gold thread through silk. Colors started to come back as her vision began to clear, and soft moans bubbled up her throat to spill over her lips.

Charlie's free arm wrapped around her waist from underneath, pulling her up close to his chest. "I think you had fun, hmm?" he murmured, kissing her lashes. "I think you liked that. I know I did."

Claire trailed a shaking hand down his chest, grazing her nails over his nipple and hearing him suck in a sharp breath at the touch. "Thank you…," she breathed, cuddling against his chest as the cool air of the room began to chill her moist skin. She shivered.

"Cold, luv?" he asked, rubbing her back. "Do you want to get under the blankets?"

"I don't want to move," she told him, pressing against his chest.

His chuckle vibrated against her cheek. "We're going to have to eventually," he reminded her.

"Not now." But she shivered again, belying her words.

"I don't want you catching a cold because I gave you the best orgasm of your life, luv."

She giggled weakly. "Who said it was the best?" she teased, tucking her hands under her chin and nuzzling his throat.

"Were there any better?"

"Mmmm, maybe."

He shifted his head down so his lips were near her ear. "Liar," he whispered, and she knew he was smiling.

She giggled again, then moaned in protest as he started to pull his fingers out of her. She clamped her legs together, trying to hold him still as her internal muscles clutched at him. "No…!" she gasped.

"Easy, tiger," he soothed, working his hand free despite her whimpering. "The night's not over yet, right? I promise I'll take care of you."

Claire moaned as she felt him slide away from her to stand up and turn down the blankets. _I promise I'll take care of you_. The words tumbled over and over in her mind as Charlie's arms lifted her off the comforter and laid her down on her smooth strawberry sheets. _I promise I'll take care of you._

She liked the sound of that.

 

\-------------------------

 

Charlie was having difficulty believing his luck. He was climbing into bed beside a beautiful naked woman and she was _sober_. Well, fairly sober. That scream hadn't sounded very drunk to him. In fact there was very little of her behavior that he thought could be attributed to alcohol. Except the "picking up a strange man at a bar" bit; that didn't sound like the work of a sober woman.

But then what right did he have to judge her sobriety? As he sat on the edge of the bed he realized his hands were shaking. Shit, shit, shit no. _Not now, all right?_ he pleaded silently with his body. _Please not now. Wait a bit. Just a bit longer._

"Are you coming?" he heard her sleepy voice behind him, and felt her soft white hand on his back. Immediately the muscles that had been cording there loosened, and he let himself relax as he turned to face her.

"I hope to be doing so very shortly," he said, giving her his best cheeky grin. "I was thinking you could help me with that."

That earned him a dreamy smile. "Tell on," she murmured, patting the bed beside her.

Charlie's grin widened and he stretched out next to her, pulling the blankets up to cover their bodies, engulfing them in a warm, comfortable cocoon. "There, that's better, don't you think?" he asked, kissing her forehead, her cheek, the tip of her nose. "Snug like bugs in rugs."

Claire made a face. "Ewww, bugs."

"You don't like bugs?"

"Not really, no. They've got too many legs and eyes. They look like aliens."

"You've met aliens, have you?"

She giggled. "No."

"Then how do you know bugs look like them. Maybe WE look like aliens to the ants."

She tucked a hand under her head on the pillow, raising her chin to look at him more fully. "You think about this a lot, don't you?" she asked, her pearly smile a band of perfect white against the blue night.  
  
Charlie shrugged, slipping his arms around her waist and pulling himself closer to her body. "On occasion. When I've not got my hands full with a beautiful naked woman. Speaking of which…" He brought up his left hand, which was still moist from its time seated in her body. "Give me a mo."

Keeping his eyes open to make sure she was watching, Charlie first slid his ring finger into his mouth. He went slow, circling the digit with his tongue, making sure to lick it clean. Her taste exploded on his tongue, making his already rock hard cock go even more rigid. It was getting painful now, but he was a master of self-neglect so he ignored it, focusing instead on the lovely flickers of emotion that were passing over Claire's face. She was watching him without blinking, her dilated pupils making her dark blue eyes look all the more liquid. She was nibbling on her lower lip, and he watched her suck it fully into her mouth as he moved on to his middle finger, giving it the same treatment as the first. By the time he got through with it, her breathing was shallow and raspy and he could feel the flush of fresh blood suffusing her body, heating up the air beneath the sheets.

Pulling the finger from his mouth with an audible pop, Charlie purred, "Mmmm, delicious." He gave her an apologetic look. "So sorry, luv. I didn't share. Would you like a taste, too?" He offered her his index finger, touching it lightly to her lips.

Claire's mouth opened as if by instinct, and she closed her lips around his finger with a moan of pleasure. The soft suction she was applying made her cheeks hollow. Charlie watched, mesmerized, as her hands came up to cup his one, holding it gently as her lashes fluttered shut; a dark fringe against her pale skin. When she at last released his finger, she held his hand open and laved his palm with her soft, wet tongue.

"Perfect…" he breathed, his fingers curling to cup her cheek.

She looked up at him coyly through her lashes. "It's Claire, actually," she teased, mimicking his comment from earlier. "Much as I enjoy being compared to perfection."

He chuckled, sliding his hand back to comb through her cornsilk hair. "Who said anything about comparing?"

Claire's eyes danced. "Are you trying to seduce me?"

"Luv, I stopped trying a long time ago. I've been openly wooing you since the bar."

"I didn't think people said _woo_ anymore."

"I'm English. We're old-fashioned like that. Comes from the Dickens and Shakespeare."

"Mm-hmm, is that so?" He felt her hands on his shoulders, rolling him onto his back as she slid onto his chest. "Well it seems to be working. I wouldn't stop if I were you."

He laced his arms around her waist. "What will you give me if I don't?" he asked with a grin.

"Oh, I can think of a few things," she said, her hand sliding down his body to tease his hip.

"Mmm…" He stretched beneath her, enjoying the way her skin moved against his like silk.

"I don't normally do things like this," she went on, slowly sitting up so her hot, wet center was pressed against his thighs. "Pick up strange men and take them home. It's not in my idiom."

"So what made you change your mind this time, luv?" he asked, reaching up with both hands to squeeze her breasts languidly.

Claire ran her hands up and down his forearms. "For the reasons you said," she told him, tilting her head to one side and watching him with hooded eyes. "I wanted to be a little wild for once. I wanted to know if I could do it." A smile spread across her face. "I think we've proven I can."

"No argument here, sweet." He rolled her nipples idly between his thumbs and forefingers, enjoying her moan.

"Ooooh, that's good," she sighed, gripping his wrists and arching her back.

"You like that, hmm?" He tweaked the tight nubbins and she squealed.

"You want to know why else I took you home?" she asked breathlessly, her hips rolling faintly against his legs.

"Because I reminded you of a little lost puppy?"

"Your eyes."

"Hmm?"

Claire slid her hands down his arms to plant on the pillow on either side of his head, leaning forward in the process so her hair fell around his face like a curtain. "Your eyes," she cooed, her own eyes shining bright in the moonlight. "You have beautiful eyes."

For a moment, Charlie didn't know what to say. No one had ever told him he had beautiful eyes before. They tended to comment on the sorry state of his British teeth rather than pay any attention to his eyes. "I think you've got the market cornered in terms of beautiful eyes, luv," he murmured, moving one hand up from her breasts to pass over her eyes.

She took hold of his hand and guided it down between their bodies until it rested on her lower belly. "Eyes are the window to the soul," she said, making his palm rub her stomach. "Your eyes are gray and cloudy. I think your soul is, too. But they're still beautiful, and so is your soul." She cocked her head to the side, so the ends of her hair tickled his shoulder. "Your hands are shaking."

Dammit. "Having you this close would tend to do that to a man, Claire," he said, keeping up the firm pressure on her stomach while his other hand fell away from her breast to rest on the pillow beside his head. He clenched it into a fist in an effort to quell the shaking. "There's not an inch of me that's not screaming _Ravage her, you ponce._ "

Claire giggled, and Charlie let himself breathe a quiet sigh of relief that she didn't pursue the subject. "You already ravaged me," she pointed out. "Thoroughly, too. I think it's my turn to do the ravishing, don't you?" He felt her hand slide down between her legs to wrap firmly around his cock.

"Ohhhh, shite," Charlie moaned, shuddering as she pumped him a couple of times, priming him. "Claire…"

"Shhhh," she cooed, leaning further down so she could kiss his nose. "I promise I'll take care of you." Her thumb circled his tip and he jumped, his cock twitching in her hand. "Shhh…"

 _Shhh_ she told him, as if he could be quiet when her soft hand was working him into a frenzy. But he bit his lip as she situated herself more comfortably over his lower body. "You're killing me, luv," he whispered hoarsely, opening his eyes just wide enough to see her peering over her own shoulder at where he was about to join with her.

She looked back to the front, flashing him a megawatt smile. "Only a little," she assured him. "And it'll feel so good when it comes." As a taster, she dipped her hips down, rubbing her hot core against his cock. Charlie cried out, his fingers digging into her hip as he stuffed his other fist into his mouth.  
  
"I think I like you like this," Claire murmured, trailing the fingers of her free hand over his ribs with maddening delicacy. "Completely at my beck and call… Totally mine…"

He nodded, his teeth digging into his knuckles. The shaking of his limbs was only partially to do with the heroin now. He wanted to flip her onto her back and drive into her like a jackhammer. It took every ounce of his willpower to hold himself still as she ran her fingers along his shaft, toying with him.

"Do you want to be inside me?" she whispered, her eyes shining like a cat's.

"Fuck yes," he moaned around his fist.

"Deep inside, where it's wet and warm and tight?"

He whimpered, his body shuddering with want. "Yes…!"

"Say please."

"PLEASE!"

"A little louder."

" **PLEASE!** Fuck, Claire, PLEASE!"

She shook visibly above him, dipping forward to capture his mouth with her own for a fleeting, scorching kiss. "You only had to say it once," she whispered, voice almost as needy as his own. "I couldn't say no."

Charlie moaned into her mouth as he felt her press his tip to her entrance, guiding him in the first few increments. Claire gasped against his lips and he felt her muscles stiffen. "Oh God," she panted, arching her neck as she slowly sank down on him. "Oh… Oh GOD…"

Charlie didn’t say anything. There wasn't anything he _could_ say. His hands gripped her hips, knuckles going white, as she panted above him. His stomach was tight, his legs twitching, ready to thrust up into her. But he was enjoying watching her, coupled with his sense of powerlessness. He'd subbed to women before, but usually it was in a situation where the woman knew she had the power and used it to her advantage. Charlie honestly didn't think Claire knew how much he'd do for her if she asked. Charlie wasn't even sure _he_ knew.

"Charlie," she gasped, her fingers flexing against his shoulders as she pushed herself up. "Ch-Charlie… move…"

It was like someone had lit a firecracker beneath him. With a garbled cry, he pushed up with his hips, seating himself deep within her. "Claire…!" he exclaimed, arching up, away from the bed.  
"CHARLIE!" She hadn't used his name all night and now she'd used it three times in less than a minute. It was like an instant aphrodisiac. Charlie's world turned rosy as he watched her start to rock on top of him, arching her back as she dragged her fingers down his chest to dig into his stomach. "Yes! Charlie!"

If his hips had been welded to the bed he still wouldn't have been able to control them. Holding her waist, he began thrusting up into her with unbridled abandon, grunting with each push. Fuck, she was warm, and she held him so tightly. This was heaven. This was where good little Catholic schoolboys went when they died. He was going to have to start going back to confession.

"Tilt back… a little," he gasped, rubbing his thumbs in small circles against the ridges of her hips. "Fuck, yes… Just a little, Claire…"

She did as he'd suggested, and gasped as his cock rubbed over her g-spot. "Ohhhhhhhh…! OHHHHHH!" she keened, leaning back, hands planted on his thighs as she started riding him in earnest. "YES! YES!"

He wasn't going to be able to hold out much longer. He'd already held on longer than he thought possible. But if he was going, so was she. Dropping one hand from her waist, he started rubbing her clit urgently. "That's it…!" he panted as she squealed. "Just like that! Yes, yes, come on, Claire, YES!"

She screamed again, her body convulsing on top of him as her orgasm washed over her. Her muscles tightened around him, pulling him deep, and Charlie cried out her name as he came, pulsing inside her. "CLAIRE!"

For a minute, neither of them moved. Charlie stared at Claire as he tried to get his breath back, watching her flat stomach flutter with each gasping breath. Her head was lolling backwards, so that her hair tickled his knees. When at last she did move, it was to roll forward, draping herself over him like a blanket. "Oh… Oh my God…" she panted.

"I know," he said breathlessly, his fingers fumbling numbly for the blankets to cover them both once again. "I know…"

They lay quietly for a few minutes, neither speaking, holding one another as the tremors subsided. Charlie felt his own shakes coming back, intruding on the peaceful moment with their demanding presence. Claire would notice, if he didn't distract her. "I should have worn a condom," he murmured, stroking her hair.

"Mmm, are you clean?" she asked dreamily against his shoulder.

"Yeah."

"You're sure?"

"I got tested before the tour, luv. To be safe. You're the first bird I've been with since we started."

He felt her smile against his collarbone. "'Sokay then," she mumbled. "I trust you."

"What about-"

"I'm on the pill. 'Sokay."

"But-"

"I trust you." She raised her head to look at him sleepily. "It's all right."

He trailed his fingers over her cheek. "Are you sure?" he asked as she leaned into his palm.

Claire nodded. "I'm sure." She smiled.

The silence descended, and this time it wasn't convivial. This time it had purpose.

"Luv," Charlie finally murmured, when the quiet grew unbearable. "Tomorrow… I'll be in Melbourne."

She nodded slowly, her bright eyes dimming slightly. "And I'll still be here," she said softly. "With…" Her voice trailed off.

"Thomas," he filled in for her.

"Right." She blushed. "I… didn't want to say his name."

"He's a lucky bastard," Charlie said, surprised by the vehemence in his own voice. "I hope he knows how bloody lucky he is."

"Please," Claire whispered, and Charlie was horrified to hear what he thought were tears in her voice. "Please, can we not talk about him? Please, I just…" She shook her head, sinking down on his chest again, her hair fanning out under his chin. "I just…"

Charlie closed his eyes, holding her tightly. "Shhh," he soothed, rocking her gently. "I'm sorry."

"Why did I meet you tonight?" she whispered hoarsely, her fingers clutching his arm. "It's not fair. I wasn't supposed to… To fall…"

"Don't say it, luv," he murmured in her hair. "You don't even know if it's true."

"Yes I do!"

"No you don't." He sighed, opening his eyes again and nudging her hair with his nose. "You've known me one night, sweet. What you said, about my soul… It's… It's true, what you said, and if you knew me... I mean, really knew me…"

She raised her head, and there were tears on her lashes. Honest to God tears. "It wouldn't matter," she whispered. "I know enough from your eyes."

He sighed, kneading her hips. "Do you want me to leave now?" he asked.

"Do you want to?" She sounded hurt.

"Fuck no," he told her. "I want to stay."

"Then stay."

She made it sound so simple. One syllable, no equivocation. He noticed she didn't specify how long.

"Okay," he whispered, gazing up into her eyes. "I'll stay."

She nodded, and her body loosened a little. Her eyes were heavy, asking to sleep. His own pulse was pounding, begging for a fix, holding sleep at bay. Charlie turned them onto their sides, moaning a little as his soft cock slid out of her body. "Shhh," he whispered, kissing her eyes shut. "Go to sleep."

"Stay?" she murmured, her eyes drifting open as if to assure herself he was still there.

"I will," he said with a smile. "I will."

She looked at him for a few seconds more, then pressed a soft kiss to his Adam's apple before closing her eyes and snuggling down into the pillows. Less than a minute later, she was sound asleep.

Charlie watched her until he was sure she was really asleep. When he was convinced, he sat up and swung his legs over his side of the bed. Running his hands through his hair he stared at the crumpled cargo pants on the floor.

Tomorrow he was going to be in Melbourne, on the second stop of a tour that could lead to a contract with a real label. They weren't generating too much buzz right now, but Charlie knew that would turn around once they started rebuilding their fanbase. This would work -- it would. Drive Shaft would be able to start fresh again. They just had to stick with it.

Melbourne.

Bloody _Melbourne_.

With a growl he grabbed his pants up off the floor and fished through the pockets until his fingers found the familiar plastic baggy that ruled his life. Taking it out, he stared at the contents. He was halfway through this stash -- he'd have to buy more soon. Shit, but he was going through it fast. It was the stress of the new tour. It was taking the life out of him.

Unknotting the top of the baggy, he measured out a dose along his index finger. Without pause he ran his nose along it, snorting it up, feeling the familiar rush past his sinuses. It hit his body like a hammer, making him shudder, then relax.

A hand on his arm made him nearly jump out of his skin. Pressing the baggy against his stomach, he craned his neck around to stare over his shoulder at Claire. Her sleepy eyes were open. "What are you doing?" she mumbled.

"Just… Just taking my medicine, luv," he stammered. He brushed at his nose. "Allergies."

Her fingers twined with his hand. "I'm lonely," she murmured, snuggling into the pillow. "Come back."

He smiled, squeezing her hand. "Be right there, sweet." He brought her knuckles to his lips and kissed them. "Promise."

She giggled, nuzzling her own hair against the pillow.

Leaning over the side of the bed again, Charlie stuffed the baggy into his pants, then turned around on the mattress and nestled down under the blankets again. "Come 'ere," he said, pulling her close against his chest. Claire went willingly, nestling her head under his chin. Charlie wrapped his arms around her waist and closed his eyes, enjoying the vanilla scent of her hair. "Sweet dreams,"

"Sweet dreams," she murmured back. A few seconds passed, then she started humming faintly. " _Acting like it's stupid people, wearing expensive clothes…_ " Her voice drifted off to sleep.

Charlie stared at the opposite wall over the top of her head, feeling her breath soft and slow against his chest, and wondered why he'd ever written that particular lyric.

 

\-------------------

 

When she woke up, he was gone.

It didn't surprise her. She hadn't expected he'd stay. That didn't mean it didn't hurt.

She sat up slowly, squinting against the bright light of the new day. Glancing at the clock she saw that it was well after ten in the morning. There was no way of knowing when he'd left. The only reminder that he'd been there at all was a lingering soreness in her legs and a dreamy lassitude in the rest of her body.

"Charlie…" she murmured, her lips forming the name more from instinct than memory. The alcohol must have hit her harder than she'd thought. A dull ache was pounding in her temples and the base of her skull, making it hard to think, let alone remember details.

She stumbled out of bed and made her way to the bathroom, not caring a whit that she was stark naked. She leaned over the hand basin and splashed water on her face before straightening up to stare at herself in the mirror. Shit, she looked like hell. She was never falling asleep in her makeup again. Raccoon rings of mascara rimmed her eyes

_eyeliner. Black eyeliner_

which were bloodshot, thanks to her hangover.

_Gray eyes. He had gray eyes_

She found herself snatching at memories of him like shadows cast by candlelight. They were there, she could see them, she could remember how they made her feel, but she couldn't put them together in any coherent fashion. Which band did he play for? What was that song? Christ, it was one of those catchy ones. It was on the tip of her tongue!

"Dammit!" she snapped, pushing away from the mirror and running her fingers through her hair, which felt stiff and coarse this morning. Stalking to the shower she threw on the tap and stepped under the stream before it had a chance to warm up. The cold water made her gasp, but it also helped clear her head.

Did she really want to remember him? What good could that possibly do? She had a boyfriend -- Thomas. He was a wonderful guy; everyone said so. _She_ said so every opportunity she got. So what if their relationship had more or less ruined the one she had with her mother? That wasn't worth salvaging anyway, the rotten old bitch. But what she had with Thomas could last. It could have legs. It would take time, but she was certain there was a future for the pair of them. They'd been together for over a year now, the longest she'd ever been in a relationship with anybody. That had to mean something. Didn't it?

She scrubbed herself clean with peppermint scented body wash, and tried to pretend she wasn’t imagining Charlie's hands in her hair.

Turning off the shower, she stepped out of the tub and grabbed a fluffy towel off the wrack. Rubbing it quickly through her hair, she wrapped it around her body and walked out of the bathroom.

"THOMAS!" she squeaked.

And it was. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding her tattered dress from the night before in his hand. "What's this?" he asked, sounding genuinely confused.

"Oh… Just a rag," Claire stammered, hurrying forward to grab it out of his hand. "I was using it to do the dusting. It fell over the railing. What are you doing back?" She threw the dress behind her.

"Grandma went to visit Aunt Laurie down the coast, so I came home a day early. Did you just get out of bed?"

"What? Oh, yeah. I… I was feeling sick last night, so I slept in this morning."

"Really? Are you feeling better now?"

"A little." She hurried forward, shooing him off the bed. "Look, Thomas, I might be infectious, so why don't you come back tomorrow. I'm sure I'll be feeling better by then. I'll just wash up my bedding so I don’t spread my germs around."

She felt Thomas' arms wrap around her from behind, and tried not to stiffen up. "I missed you," he purred near her ear, nibbling on her neck. "If you're infectious I would have already caught whatever you have. How 'bout we spend a sick day in bed together, hmm?" He nuzzled the knob of her spine.

Claire closed her eyes, clutching a bundle of her bedding to her stomach. _Dirty needles_ she could have said to him. _Multiple partners._ A simple, _Not today, Thomas, all right?_ Instead, she went for the obvious.

"Not right now, Thomas," she said quietly.

"Why not?"

She looked over her shoulder at him. "I have a headache."

 

\-------------------

 

**EPILOGUE:**

 

It was amazing, the things being stranded on a desert island could cull from a person's memory.

For example, watching the waves reminded Claire that her mother was terrified of jellyfish. Absolutely terrified. The woman wouldn't set foot on the beach without a pair of sandals to protect her feet from any that might have washed up on shore.

As another example, looking into Charlie's eyes reminded her that the first time they'd met, he smelled like beer, smoke and nail polish. The sensory memory hit her so powerfully, she wondered how it had managed to hide itself away for so long. But there it was, as she watched him hoist her luggage onto the wheelchair to drag it through the sand. It was a pleasant memory, and made her smile. It came again, when he sat next to her in the sick tent and told her Locke would find her water, and she was not to worry. Then in the forest, as the contractions of her false labor wracked her small body with pain, and he told her he wouldn't leave her. He'd look after her.

_I promise I'll take care of you._

Even now, after almost a year, she still liked the sound of that.

He didn't seem to remember her, which hit her like a blow to the heart, but she refused to let it show. No doubt he'd slept with so many women since her, there was no way he'd remember her face out of that myriad of willing flesh. Besides, there was his drug habit to contend with, which no doubt had addled his memory.

Still. He seemed… drawn to her. Like a moth to a flame, he always seemed to be hovering near her whenever she might need him. Maybe he did remember…?

Then why didn't he say anything?

Well, that was obvious. Because she was pregnant. And the stupid fool thought the baby belonged to THOMAS.

Sighing, Claire leaned her head back against the palm tree she was using as a back rest and watched Charlie spear for fish with Hurley in the waves. Oh, she'd told herself the child was Thomas'. It was easier to believe she'd gotten pregnant from one of her many nights with Thomas than to fathom getting pregnant from one fleeting encounter with Charlie. It was simple mathematical probability. But in her heart she knew it wasn't true -- she knew the baby was Charlie's. Thomas' sperm were tired little weaklings, just like him. Not Charlie's. Oh no, Charlie's tiny seamen were determined little things. They knew what they wanted and they went for it, just like their progenitor.

She rubbed her rounded stomach and considered telling him. It wasn't a new thought -- it had been rolling through her head everyday since that day with the luggage. And always she shot it down, though why wasn't exactly clear. Maybe she was still a little hurt that he'd left her that morning, when he told her he'd stay. That was silly; after all, what else was he to do? Fight Thomas to the death for her? No doubt he would have won, but what about _his_ life? He hadn't asked to be saddled with her. One night stands weren't supposed to turn into long-winded engagements. Besides, she still didn't have any REAL proof the baby was his, except her feminine intuition.

Of course, that intuition tended to be right. Just look at the evidence of his eyes.

The truth was, she didn’t want to tell him in case he DIDN'T remember her. What humiliation THAT would be. She'd been carrying him on a little pedestal in her head since that night, but what if he'd tossed her memory aside like so much debris? Maybe he just liked to hang around her on this island because she was young, and pretty, and didn't have a squalling baby YET. What would he say if she told him, _Oh, by the way, do you happen to remember sleeping with me one night about nine months ago? It was actually pretty amazing, I think you'd agree. And… well, I think you ought to know that this baby is yours. So, hello, daddy._

His eyes would probably go a little wild and he'd start asking her what she expected for child support -- banana leaves?

So she built up a little wall between them; an emotional barrier. She didn't want to tell him in case he didn't remember, but at the same time she wanted him to stay near her so she could pretend he DID remember. It was a self-defeating cycle. Spending time with him made her want to tell him all the more, which made it harder to keep the wall at full intensity. One of these days it was going to crack and she'd end up spilling the whole story to him, and then she'd know for certain where they stood.

She wondered if maybe, just maybe, he was doing the same thing. What would happen if they cracked together?

The sensation of eyes watching her made her look up from her contemplation of her belly. Charlie was watching her from the waves. He raised a hand to wave at her, then raised the other to show her a flipping, flapping fish he'd caught. She laughed and gave him a thumbs up, reveling in the grin he gave her.

_The father of the child will play no part in its life, nor yours._

That was what the psychic had told her, but she didn't believe him. He'd also told her there was a couple waiting to adopt her baby in Los Angeles, but that had been a ploy to get her on the plane. Maybe telling her the father would play no part in her baby's life had been a way of getting her away from Thomas. After all, _she_ might have known in her heart that Charlie was the father, but if Richard Malkin had told her she'd end up happily ever after with her child's father, she would have assumed he meant Thomas. She would have spent all her time trying to mend fences with him, rather than taking plane tickets on doomed flights that would crash on desert islands.

Silly her, thinking the psychic couldn't read her heart as well as her hands.

Charlie was watching her again. She shook herself out of her reverie and smiled at him across the sands. He smiled back. This time he didn't have a fish to show her -- he just wanted to see her smile.

Maybe… Maybe tonight she'd tell him. Maybe. She liked tidy packages, and this one had been trailing loose ends for nine months.

There had been no couple in Los Angeles, and she wasn't meant to be with Thomas. These were truths she knew in her marrow. When she went to see Richard Malkin, however, she hadn't been anywhere near so sure. The psychic had done what he needed to do -- he'd told her what she needed to hear.

That didn't mean it was the truth.

And watching Charlie get washed by the waves, whole and healthy and almost hers, she was thankful for the lie.

 

 

**THE END**


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